"War is peace. Freedom is slavery. Ignorance is strength."
In a steampunk-inspired World War II, treachery and secrets abound as the world spirals closer to chaos.
Steve Rogers is a would-be soldier with nothing to lose. Denied from enlisting more t...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
New York City; July 11, 1941
Steve and the doctor found themselves holed up in a small, cramped cafe on 28th Street, owned by an immigrant family he had gotten to know well over the years. The Wanatabes had always provided Steve shelter from the bullies of his youth, and they had been close ever since. The shop was a hodgepodge of all sorts of furniture, cramped together so tightly there was hardly space between the tables and poufs. Steve claimed a spot by the window, a cracked leather booth that provided some shelter from the bustle of the cafe's customers and from any eavesdroppers.
Erskine maneuvered his way around the variety of sofas and footstools that decorated the floor of the cafe, giving Steve a vexed sort of glare. "It's a unique place, isn't it?" he commented, eyes following the string of lanterns and decorations strewn across the walls of the cafe. The menu was just as diverse as the décor – Erskine ordered a cup of black Viennese coffee from the Wanatabes' youngest daughter, and Steve followed suit.
"Tell me, Steven," Erskine leaned in closer to be heard over the yammering clamor of the cafe's customers, "Why do you patronize this cafe especially?"
"Oh, that's easy." Steve leaned back against the leather of the booth, nodding his head towards the window. "I've known the Wanatabes for a while, but I really come here for the music. Can you hear it?"
The pounding of pianos thundered from every inch of 28th Street, filling it with raucous energy as swing tunes mingled and collided with each other. Musicians studied sheet music and drew their fingers across the keys, crashing rhythms blending with each other in one grand American songbook. With all of the songs playing at once, the cacophony sometimes turned into a miserable mess, but Steve could still appreciate the tunes free of charge – or rather, for however much Viennese coffee cost.
"It's hard not to," the doctor grumbled, but not unkindly. "You are a fan of swing music, then?"
Nodding quickly, Steve's eyes focused on some distant scene beyond a mobile of origami cranes. "Sure do. Bucky – a friend of mine – he's always taking the girls dancing, but he'll be off on the Repulse soon. I guess it'll be my turn to pick up a real New York dame. Only problem is, I'm afraid she'd step on me!"
